


Poached to Fried, and Everything in Between

by usabuns



Series: Hanceome Week 2018 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ? kinda, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Cooking, Cooking With Lance, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Food Porn, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hanceome Week 2018, M/M, Nicknames, haha a little bit, like a gross amount of sappy nicknames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usabuns/pseuds/usabuns
Summary: Lance tries to impress Hunk with his cooking. The results are...varied.For #hanceomeweek.Day 1: Domestic





	Poached to Fried, and Everything in Between

**Author's Note:**

> based on a true story (i was lance, my friend was hunk, and it didn’t end well)

”You better not make a mess.” Hunk is leaning against the doorway that leads from the living room to the kitchen, with his eyebrows raised and a bemused look on his face. He has his hands wrapped around a mug filled to the brim with warm coffee, and frankly, he thinks this whole thing is a bad idea. “When you make a mess, you’re cleaning it all. No helping from me.” 

Lance clutches his chest while taking a carton of eggs out of the fridge. “You’re so mean to me! I go out of my way to make you breakfast, and this is how you treat me?” 

Hunk sighs, very loudly, and takes a long sip of his coffee. “May I remind you that you didn’t volunteer to make breakfast, you were just up late last night watching _Hell’s Kitchen_ reruns and decided it would be a good idea to do the egg challenge.” 

“—It’s just disgraceful!” Lance continues, ignoring Hunk entirely. He’s now balancing four small plates and four forks in his arms, all stacked on top of each other. 

” _Jesus_ , Lance, don’t hold them like that—“ 

”—You sound like my mom.” Just out of spite, Lance then grabs four eggs by separately squeezing them in between each of his fingers. “‘S no big deal, _honey bear_.” 

Hunk glares, a defeated look on his face even when his cheeks tint pink from the nickname. He knows he’s not going to win this argument, not when Lance can just as easily taunt him with increasingly ridiculous ways to improperly hold things. “I hate you.” 

Lance turns to him with a wink and bright smile on his face. “You too~” He suddenly becomes busy with greasing the frying pan in butter, and then he goes to crack an egg in one of them. “Uh, what were the four different kinds, again? I forgot.” 

”Fried, poached, scrambled, and an omelet,” Hunk recites, seating himself on the island across from the stove. The grin gracing his lips is absolutely devious. “Do you even know how to make any of those?” 

”Hey! I know what sunny side up is!” 

Hunk’s smirk gets even wider. ”That’s probably it, huh?” 

”So what?! I’ll figure it out.” A ‘hmmpf’ comes from Lance, and he crosses his arms over his chest. 

The egg on the pan is sizzling and crackling, and Lance sprinkles salt and pepper onto it as it cooks. He’s humming, too, but a song that Hunk can’t recognize. 

”How do you like your eggs? Runny or solid?” 

”Oh, so I’m the taste-tester?” 

”You’re the _judge_.” 

”I’m Gordon Ramsay?” 

Lance groans. “Yes, Hunk, now tell me how you like your eggs.” 

”Mmm...” Hunk taps his finger against the granite countertop, pondering. Honestly, he’d be fine with either, but he feels like it would be a bad idea to be too general with Lance. “Make it...both, I guess. In the middle?” He shrugs as he says it, and glances over at the stove. “You haven’t burned anything yet, right?” 

”No, smartass,” grumbles Lance, and he gives Hunk a pointed look. 

Hunk tries to hold in his laughter, but ultimately fails. “I like your face.” 

”Thanks, I like it too.” 

Now it’s Hunk’s turn to pester him. “You jerk. Say I’m handsome.” 

Lance sneers, and then Hunk realizes his mistake. ”I’m handsome,” he says, matter-of-factly, looking awfully proud of himself. The stove is turned off, and then a nearly-pink egg slips onto one of the plates Lance had already prepared. “—But seriously, here’s the first one, _handsome_.” And Lance ruffles his hair. 

Hunk picks up the fork and cuts the white part, eating it first. It’s crispy but still soft and chewy, tasting vaguely of the salt and pepper Lance had put on earlier. Next is the yolk, which is still yellowish. It’s solid like he requested, but with a little bit of it dripping out. 

His brows raise, and Lance leans in on the counter, hovering over him. “What? What is it? Is it good?” Lance is practically bouncing on the soles of his feet. 

Hunk scowls as he swallows his last bite. “Yeah, it’s— It’s pretty good, Lancey Lance.” 

He swivels around on the seat, and Lance walks over, pressing his hands into Hunk’s shoulders and leaning down. “Soooo if it’s good, I deserve a kiss as a reward, right?” 

”That’s a win-win, so— Yes, definitely, I really wanna kiss you.” So it doesn’t take long before Hunk lifts his chin up, beckoning for Lance to come closer, and he does—Lance eagerly plants a quick kiss onto Hunk’s lips, moving his hands up to cup Hunk’s warm cheeks. 

Lance pulls back and looks at Hunk fondly, then goes back around to the stove. “What’s next?” 

”It’s, err—“ Hunk is blushing, but thankful that Lance’s back is turned. He coughs. “It’s scrambled eggs. You can manage that, right?” 

”Yeah,” he cracks his knuckles, “I think so.” 

”I hope so...” Hunk mumbles, and he starts flipping through one of the magazines on the counter that had come in the mail—the one he picks is car-related, showing all the newest models. 

Several minutes pass where Lance is aggressively beating the eggs, adding in different spices like cayenne and tarragon and a lot of pepper. 

”By the way, I like cheese in my scrambled eggs.” Hunk waves his hand dismissively, flipping to the next page of the magazine. “And ketchup when it’s done. Just saying.” 

”Alright, alright.” 

Soon enough, the beaten eggs are on the pan, and Lance scrambles them up and adds the cheese. The scent coming up from the stove is delightful, so much so that even Hunk looks up, enticed. 

”That smells...delicious, actually.” 

Lance puts the plate down in front of Hunk, looking pretty stunned. “Dude... That’s like, the first compliment you’ve given me all morning.” 

Hunk’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything because he’s already digging in. The cheese is gooey and warm—Lance had used mozzarella—and the eggs themselves are fried a nice golden color. He dips some in ketchup, other pieces are left plain, and once every scrap is gone he downs it all with the last few ounces of his coffee. 

”—You looked like you enjoyed that one, big guy.” Lance is already wrapping his arms around Hunk from behind, gently squeezing. The hug doesn’t last long, though, because he swiftly pushes away and gives Hunk’s belly a few soft pats. 

So Hunk’s blushing again, spinning the stool slightly so he’s angled toward Lance. “Y-Yes, actually. I did. But don’t get too cocky yet. The hardest ones are last.” 

”Which would be?” 

”Omelet and poached. You choose which first.” 

”Poached eggs sound harder. Are they harder?” 

”Astoundingly so. I’ll be surprised if you get it right the first try.” 

”...So, omelet, then. Is just cheese fine?” 

”That’s boring.” Hunk looks a little peeved at Lance’s lack of passion, but certainly not surprised. “Maybe add in some spinach. Oooo, and onions, too. And can you make some—“ 

”—Take it easy with the additions, I’m not you.” 

”I’m aware,” Hunk snorts, “very aware, string bean.” 

Hunk watches him closely when he minces the onion and the the spinach, scrutinizing him carefully and pointing out when it’s not right. Despite what he said earlier, Hunk can’t help but tell Lance exactly what to do any exactly what he likes. Just guiding him, though; giving him pointers and nothing more. He lets Lance add the extra ingredients, fold it, and sear it. 

”I’ll let you flip it, too,” Hunk says, regrettably, and he says a little prayer in his head before he offers the handle to Lance. 

”Who, me? How am I supposed to—“ 

”Don’t think about it too much.” 

”Easy for you to say...” So Lance grips the panhandle with gusto, while Hunk steps back a few feet. He flicks the frying pan upwards, but with too much force—the omelet doesn’t go flying, but it _does_ flip onto the grating above the flame. 

Hunk slaps his palm to his forehead, slumping over, and Lance scrambles to find a spatula. “Jeez, Lance... I was really looking forward to eating that.” 

”It’s not lost!” says Lance, maybe with a bit too dramatically. “We can still salvage it! Hold the pan!” Hunk obliges and Lance turns off the stove, then gently skits the plastic part of the spatula beneath the width of the omelet. It’s with some kind of precision unknown to Hunk that Lance lifts the thing up and sets it on the plate. 

The stove is a mess, and the omelet is broken and falling apart, but it’s at least arguably _edible_. 

“How did you even manage to _do_ that?” Hunk asks, bewildered and suddenly not as eager to eat it as he once was. 

”The salvaging part or the flipping out of the pan part?” quips Lance, pointing at Hunk in an accusatory way. 

” _Both_.” 

Lance grins, proudly shoving the plate into Hunk’s hands. “Now eat up. I need to know if it still tastes good.” 

”Maybe start making that poached egg, then? Because I’d rather not still be eating eggs at lunch time.” Hunk sits down, omelet in tow, and begrudgingly cuts some of it off with a knife. 

”Yeah, okay, but how do you do that? I’ve never even heard of a poached egg before today.” 

”You simmer some water, not boil,” he says between bites, “but make sure there’s vinegar in the water, not salt. That can mess up the egg. So—then you crack an egg into the water, and it’ll be done in a few minutes. And you take it out and—voilà. Poached egg.” 

Lance’s jaw is gaping as he fetches the pot. “You make it sound so easy.” 

”Well, it probably won’t be. Not for you.” 

”I figured as much,” Lance mumbles, filling up the pot with a steady stream of filtered water. “How’s the omelet?” 

”Eh. Not too great.” 

”Cut me some slack!” His head shakes, and then he peeks over the rim of the pot to see an empty plate. “It was bad, but you still ate it all?” 

”I didn’t say it was bad,” Hunk is wiping at the corners of his mouth, “I just said it was okay.” Lance lights the flame, rolling his eyes as he spills some vinegar into it. “That’s gonna be half-credit. You’re at a two and half out of four so far. But I’m looking forward to how _this_ turns out.” 

”Oh, it’ll be amazing,” Lance says, half spiteful and half sarcastic. His tone is really hard to place. “I’ll make the best damn poached egg you’ve ever tasted.” 

Hunk leans against the countertop, resting his chin in his palms and angling his elbows comfortably. “Oh, you can _try_ , Lancey boy. You can try.” 

Getting the water to a proper temperature isn’t the hard part, as Lance finds out; the hard part is trying to crack the egg in the water. Hunk informs him that it’s best to crack it into a bowl first, then spill it into the water, making sure the yolk and whites are close together in a clump. 

It solidifies soon enough, and that’s when Lance turns off the stove. “How do I—“ 

”—You’ll need a slotted spoon,” Hunk cuts in, already knowing what he’s going to say. “You just scoop it, and all the water’ll go through the slots. Also, people usually put basil on it once it’s done.” 

Lance narrows his eyes. ”Thanks for the lecture, teach.” 

”Hey, you asked.” Hunk’s shrug is indignant. 

The kitchen is quiet and suspenseful when Lance dips the spoon beneath the surface of the water, Hunk eyeing the events carefully and with mild interest. The egg pops out with the metal, droplets falling back into the pot. It looks white and wispy, like a cloud, and even the yellow yolk is more pink now. 

Hunk doesn’t see him dress the thing—Lance grabs all sorts of things from the cabinet above the stove, namely basil like Hunk had suggested, a bit of cayenne and the salt from before. 

”—Bone app the teeth.” Lance presents the plate, sliding it across the counter to Hunk, and when he does the egg hardly even looks white: there’s only limited salt and pepper and cayenne, but the whole thing’s _green_ from the excessive amounts of basil. 

”Dude, what the _hell_ did you do to it?” Hunk thought it would be bad, but this is bad to the tenth power. He actually looks genuinely shocked as he pokes the egg with his fork. “Basil is a garnish, Lance... You put on so much that this egg is, like, 57% plant!” 

”Shut up, I’m trying!” Lance shouts back, and he shakes Hunk’s shoulders in defeat—though Hunk hardly even budges. “Just eat it, please! I’m literally begging you— I will go down on my hands and knees and—“ 

”—Fine. Only because if I don’t, it’ll be a waste of food.” 

Hunk eats half of it in one go. The inside is decent, at least, but the outside tastes like he just ate a handful of basil. He cringes. ”Lance, this is a goddamn basil plant.” 

”But is it a _tasty_ basil plant?” 

Hunk rolls his eyes. He looks pretty traumatized, but still finished up the rest of it. So he shoves the plate away and gets up, grabbing Lance by his biceps. “No more cooking for today. We’ll get takeout for lunch.” He’s nearly crying at this point. 

Lance is beaming, for some reason. “Sounds good to me. I’ll take two and a half out of four being good. That’s like, what, 60%?” 

”62.5%, actually,” Hunk corrects absentmindedly, trailing his fingers down the stringy muscles of Lance’s arm. 

”Good enough. But I need more kissing after those bitter failures...” Lance leans in and presses a sharp, loving kiss to Hunk’s soft lips. When he slowly pulls back, that tender look is in his eyes again, but also a mischievous glint. “Uhh... Watch _Hell’s Kitchen_ with me on the couch? I really wanna cuddle with my Hunky bear.” 

Hunk pushes in closer, brushing his nose against Lance’s. “You don’t even have to ask, cupcake.”

**Author's Note:**

> this story is also known as “2k+ words of gianna talking about food, just because she can”
> 
> tumblr [@usabuns](http://usabuns.tumblr.com), twitter [@usabuns](https://mobile.twitter.com/usabuns) ♥️


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